


Fireworks and Symphonies

by EchoSilverWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bored Sherlock, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, John Sings, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, No Mary Morstan, No Smut, Post-Reichenbach, Power Outage, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Songfic, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 02:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11326962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSilverWolf/pseuds/EchoSilverWolf
Summary: Sherlock is sulky and bored during a power outage at 221B. John makes a suggestion that doesn't quite turn out how he planned.*NOT betaed so please excuse any mistakes i missed.*Very innocent. Was written because there is not nearly enough fiction for very young JohnLock shippers. (preteen)Wanted to try my hand at a fic that adults could like,  but kids (my own especially!) could still read :)**see notesCute little fluff ficlet centered around the song :Sad SongBy: We the Kingshttps://youtu.be/BZsXcc_tC-o





	Fireworks and Symphonies

**Author's Note:**

> Just a plot bunny that turned into a little fluffy ficlet. 
> 
> I kept this very innocent, as I wanted to write something my young ( ages 7, 8 and 10)Johnlock shipping daughters could also read. My 8 year old actually introduced me to the song by way of a JL fan video. <3

“This is _tedious”_  Sherlock growls, Flopping emphatically onto the sofa. “The power has been out for _ages_!”

John rolls his eyes.

_Such a drama queen!_

_“_ It's only been a few hours, Sherlock. You shouldn't have run the laptops down without charging them.” he chastises. “Read a book. You lit every bloody candle in the flat. You can see well enough for that.”

An indignant huff comes from a curled up lump of detective.  

John sets down his own book with a sigh.

“You could play for me” he offers, tentatively. The suggestion more for his own benefit than to occupy his petulant friend, because he truly loves listening to Sherlock play, and watching him in the dim, candlelit room would just be a lovely bonus. That, however is something he doesn't need to know.

“You don't even _get_ half of what i play John.”

“Doesn't mean i don't enjoy listening”

“Dull” comes the muffled response issued into the back of the sofa.

John is quiet for a moment than an idea comes to him

“Then play something you normally wouldn't. Something that's _not_ made for the violin. Something current.”

“Are you seriously suggesting i attempt to turn one of your insipid _pop_ songs into real music?”

“Well, you don't need to be an arse about it, it was just an idea! But yes. I’m sure your massive brain could take something you've heard me listen to before and figure it out.”

Another exasperated sigh fills the quiet of the darkened room.

After several long moment there is a resigned huff and a reply.

“Phone, John”

“It's next to your hand you lazy git, pick it up yourself”

“No. Yours. If i _must_ entertain you at least give me options.”

“ _Now_ you care what i want?”

A slightly gentler voice replies "I always care what you want, John. If i did not i wouldn't even be entertaining this idea”

John tosses him his mobile with a smirk.

“Ta! Have at it then”

In the flickers of candlelight he watches his flatmate scroll through his downloads, the disgust and frustration rolling across his face. Until he pauses and his features soften a little.

_Must've found one_

Sherlock stands setting the mobile on the desk and takes out his violin.

“One condition, John” he starts, averting his eyes, as he readies the instrument.

_Oh this can't be good..._

_“_ If i have to play _this_ ” he gestures to John's phone, while still looking out the window, almost nervously, before turning to John, “then you have to sing.”

“ _What?”_

“Oh, Don't make that face, John. I’ve heard you. Your singing voice is actually...quite pleasant." The last words are slightly mumbled, “I, um, like to listen to you, as well”.

“When on earth have you heard me…”

“Shower, John. My bedroom is right next door, as you know”

John feels a slight blush creep across his face knowing Sherlock had heard that.

“It's one I've heard you _perform_ small parts of before, not to mention i have heard it playing while you clean, so i know the melody and you know the lyrics, John, so you should be able to keep up with little difficulty. That's the stipulation. I play. You sing.”

John stares for a moment then hesitantly nods.

_Oh god what did i agree to. What did he pick?_

Instead of bringing the instrument to his chin, long fingers begin a delicate pizzicato plucking of the almost music box sounding intro usually done on piano, to a song he indeed knows well.  Also one he very much does _not_ want to serenade his flatmate with.

It's too much. Too close to real emotions he already has a problem keeping held in. Out of everything why did he have to choose this one?

 _Talk about “not_ **_getting_ ** _it”_

_This is SO not good..._

But Sherlock's eyes meet his with a genuine and uncommon openness as he raises an eyebrow and stops and restarts the intro again with his fingers before raising the instrument to his chin.  His gaze never leaving John's face before nodding and guiding the bow into the soft beginning notes.  

John takes a steadying breath and begins to sing quietly alongside his best friend's playing:

“You and I, We're like fireworks and symphonies exploding in the sky.  
With you, I'm alive  
Like all the missing pieces of my heart, they finally collide.”

 _If he knew. How does he_ **_not_ ** _know? He knows everything! This is really too close to...truths. Almost like he chose it on purpose, but he's Sherlock. He doesn't feel things like this...like me._

Despite his unease, he stands at attention and soldiers on, eyes darting to the floor, the wall, anywhere but to the sea glass ones following him from across the room:

“So stop time right here in the moonlight,

'Cause I don't ever wanna close my eyes”

“Without you, I feel broke. Like I'm half of a whole.  
Without you, I've got no hand to hold.  
Without you, I feel torn.  
Like a sail in a storm.  
Without you, I'm just a sad song.  
I'm just a sad song."

Sherlock's focus never leave him, but his eyebrows furrow a bit as he plays along with John's more hushed singing of the second verse and chorus.

Words that remind John way too much of a tall figure on a rooftop and blood on pavement, not knowing they also remind Sherlock of a gentle hand desperately grasping his wrist. The broken, choked sound of “let me through, please! He's my friend”

When John glances up from where he has been busy staring a hole into the carpet, Sherlock is closer to him and his eyes are slightly sad, with an almost  regretful and apologetic expression.

 _It's just the darkness and the candles. I'm just seeing what i_ **_want_ ** _to see._

Yet Sherlock inches closer still. Holding John's gaze with his own as they continue this bizarre little duet.

Then, John's voice falters as the bow lowers and Sherlock continues; his lower, baritone voice joining John's own, a bit unsure, but beautiful all the same, for the third verse:

“You're the perfect melody, The only harmony  
I wanna hear.  
You're my favorite part of me,  
With you standing next to me,  
I've got nothing to fear.”

The violin raises again to continue and now he sees it clearly in his friend's face. That _thing_ that is sometimes noticeable in those moments when their eyes catch for a bit too long.

There are definitely a new and unguarded emotions flitting across Sherlock's features  as he moves to stand directly in front of him as John again repeats the chorus,a bit bolder as he lets his own eyes stay connected to his friend's.

“Without you, I feel broke”

(John steps forward )

_God help me if i get this wrong_

“Like I'm half of a whole.  
Without you, I've got no hand to hold”

He reaches over, his focus never leaving Sherlock's face, and without interrupting the song, gently removes the bow from his friend's hand.

Watching pupils widen and consume pale irises in the flickering light. Nervous curiosity, a bit of panic and yes, definitely hope, flash across his flatmate’s features.

_This is madness. You are out of your bloody mind Watson._

The air is thick and heady and full of unsaid things as they stand,face to face teetering on the edge of a line neither has ever dared try to cross, as John finishes the song a cappella.

“Without you, I feel torn”

John's hand gently takes the violin and lowers the instrument slowly away from Sherlock's chin but does not release his arm

“Like a sail in a storm.”

He moves into the man's space, faces only a breath apart and finishes

“Without you..I'm just a sad song.”

John sets the instrument and bow carefully behind him on the desk, his hand returning to fist in his friend's dressing gown, pulling him intimately closer, finding his bravery and looking up directly into those unearthly eyes.

Sherlock doesn't move but there is a slight hitch in his breathing as the space between them closes.  

John whispers “That was... _beautiful,_ Sherlock. You chose that particular song on purpose, didn't you? Not for the music, but for the lyrics. Why?”

He loosens the grip on his friend's robe and slides his hand up to curl around the back of Sherlock's neck.

He can feel Sherlock's pulse pounding frantically beneath his fingers and against his chest.

_He's scared_

Sherlock responds hesitantly. His voice uncharacteristically shy and thick with emotion,

“Wanted to hear you” he swallows audibly, “to hear you sing... _to say..._ things like _that. T_ o _me”._

John smiles up at him in the dark, the only light from a room full of candles, the only sound now from the rain beating down outside the window.

"You played  _us,_ Sherlock".

Sherlock looks terrified and vulnerable as John moves his hand from his neck to twist gently in his hair.

He pushes up on his toes to breach the gap between them, while barely ghosting his lips against Sherlock's -a question and an invitation. They hover for the briefest of moments a hairsbreadth apart, breathing each other's air, before Sherlock leans in gently searching out the warmth of John's mouth again.

One of John's hands is still entangled in Sherlock's hair, the other resting on his hip, and both of Sherlock's arms wrap tight around John's waist. Lost in each other as the rain beats heavily on the windows and the candles burn down slowly.

All John can think of is,

 _All those missing pieces, this is where they finally collide_ ; _just like fireworks and symphonies_ _exploding in the sky._

 

**Author's Note:**

> The second verse is only alluded to  
> The lyrics are :
> 
> With you, I fall  
> It's like I'm leaving all my past in silhouettes up on the wall  
> With you, I'm a beautiful mess  
> It's like we're standing hand and hand with all our fears up on the edge


End file.
